A Story from a Swing
by Sweetwater Gal
Summary: It has no lips, but it certainly has a story to tell. A Price-centric story, what else is new from yours truly? LOL


**A Story from a Swing**

Author: Sweetwater Gal... aka me! *big grin*

Rating: PG

Summary: It has no lips, but it certainly has a story to tell.

Disclaimer: I still do NOT own every single thing that is JoA related. LOL It's all a part of Barbara Hall's imagination, and CBS-Sony entertainment. I also unfortunately do not own the classy hottie Patrick/Price *pouts*

Author's Note: I'm soo psycho... seriously, I have two multi-chapter fics that I have yet to complete and yet here I am pumping out another fanfic. Okay, granted it's yet another one shot ficlet, but I mean.. c'mon! Got inspired for this little story while passing by a park. Okay, now I bet you're wondering; is this a Joan/Price fic or is it something else? Well, to be honest; this is a Gavin Price-centric fic. However, as for whether or not it's totally Joan/Price... you might have to see for yourself. Then again, you never know with me... who, I'm seriously guessing am the only JoA fanfic author currently pumping out stories for such a UC ship. Yeah... Gawd, what is it about Joan and Price? Or as I'm refering to them as my _Unexplored Temptation_. Anyway, I digress... Enjoy! 

_JoA~~Price~~JoA _

You may not believe me when I say that I am twenty years old. It's true. I have lived for at least twenty years, which is something of an amazing feat considering that most of my kind usually, if they're lucky, live for a mere decade. I am still as sturdy and capable as a rock and my colors are as bright and alive as fire. For one that could pass for five, I have lived twenty years and will live -- hopefully -- twenty more! 

In those twenty years; I have seen, heard, and felt a lot of things. Humans, mainly of the adult kind, would go on believing that I am incapable of such acts... but it's not true. Furthest from the truth, my friend. That because I have no head, I cannot think. That because I have no body, I don't have a heart.

However, let me tell you... they're wrong.

Just because I have no eyes -- doesn't mean that I can't see. As clear as the blue sky, I can see the joy I bring by simply being present. The look in a child's eyes the first time they look upon me. The spark, the wonderment, the awe of approaching my chains and sitting comfortably on one of my seats. The sheer excitement radiating from them as they gently swing back and forth until their feet kisses the sky. I may not have eyes, but I can clearly behold such joy.

Just because I have no ears -- doesn't mean that I can't hear. The laughter. Oh sweet laughter from a child's lips. It's the best sound in the entire world. The innocence, the sweetness, the way it twinkles like no other. Laughter is the best, most delightful sound... and to listen to a child's laugh is, I believe, the closest you'll ever hear the sounds of heaven. I may not have ears, but only a fool could mistake the sounds of laughter.

And just because I have no heart -- that truly does not mean that I can't feel. In all my years, I have felt every emotion known to human kind. I have felt fear. When a mother is afraid of how high their child is trying to reach the stars. I have felt loneliness. When a little girl clutches onto my chains, wishing that someone was there to give her a push. I have felt excitement. When a child sits upon my seat for the very first time, not knowing how close to heaven they'll find themselves through me. I have felt love. When a man gently places his hand on back of his lady fair, gently rocking her body back and forth as his eyes, or body, never leaves her sight. For though I may not have such a bodily organ, this does not mean that I can't feel.

I have seen... I have heard... I have felt so much in my years. Which, I suppose, means that I have many stories to tell. In this, I particularly have one in mind. Well, you may ask, what kind of story? Is it a happy tale? A sad one? A story about a child and his or her parents? A tale about two lovers spending their day together with me? What kind of story am I to tell you? In a way, it's one of each... but I shall let you be the judge.

And what do you know? Just when I'm about to tell you this particular tale, but who should step foot in my park but the very subject of my story. He's standing right there. Do you see him? The tall, dark blonde man? Wearing one of his usual dress shirts and gray slacks, with his matching gray jacket slung and held over his left shoulder. The man that is only now regarding me with care, for he used to look upon me with various range of emotions... but I shall explain more later on.

That man has three names, each spoken by three different women, that I've heard over the years. One was "Gavin." A beautiful woman with sleek auburn hair would say that certain name with such delight. She said "Gavin" in a way that one could mistake for bells ringing. There was no denying the clear sound of love whenever she would say _"Gavin." _Another was "Daddy." A child. Oh my, this sweet little girl with strawberry blonde hair and eyes as blue as the sky... This little girl, little Missy as she is called by her parents, would giggle the name _"daddy"_ with such doting adoration. One would be a fool not to see and hear the love this child had for this man. The third name, a recent one, is "Price." A teenager. A young woman with long brown hair and always wearing a scarf. There was something about the way she addressed him, the way she looked at him that one would at first mistake for kindness... but there's always a hint of something _else_. This man... Gavin... Daddy... Price... whatever you wish to see him as, this is my story about him.

I suppose it is appropriate that he has three different names, because this man certainly has lived at least three very different lifetimes. And I have been lucky enough to see... to hear... to feel all three.

I was barely a decade old when I first met _Gavin_. He looked a lot younger, a lot more alive, and he certainly laughed a lot more compared to these recent years. Gavin had strolled by my playground and he was not alone. His hand was gently holding another... the hand of the woman with the sleek auburn hair. He called her all sorts of lover's names, but most often or not he would speak of "Meggie." His beloved Meggie... a beautiful woman with an equally gorgeous smile and laugh. Every other afternoon, I would see them walking along outside the gates of my area. I'd hear their laughter. I'd see the bliss they bring to each other's company. I'd feel the love radiating from their very souls. Gavin and Meggie.

One fine day, Gavin not only brought Meggie into my park, but actually suggested spending a moment or two with me. I have never felt so honored to be in such company. She gently sat upon my seat, her hands delicately wrapping around my chains. He softly placed his hand on the small of her back as he began pushing her. As gentle as the rhythm they fell into together, they began talking just as soft and full of love and kindness that I myself wished I was capable of smiling. This was one afternoon I hoped to relive again... and I did... for nine years.

For two of those years, Gavin and Meggie would visit and honor me with a moment. Even as Gavin began pushing for two people instead of one, they would stop by just to spend a blissful afternoon with me. Despite Meggie growing a bit bigger, for she was carrying their delicate creation, she seemed to be as light as a feather. I do believe it may be because he would always make her laugh. To hear Meggie laughing brought such warmth is it any wonder why Gavin would gaze down upon her with such doting eyes. One could only imagine how he would look at her once she became a mother.

I don't really have to imagine the look, for the next seven years I've seen it. How his eyes would sparkle in such a protective, loving manner. How he would smile with such warmth and care. And that was just at Meggie alone. When he would gaze upon their daughter, Melissa (to be known as Missy later in the years), it was as if he took that Meggie look and amplified it ten folds!

Seven years... seven beautiful and priceless years.... I was blessed enough to be a part of that little family. That man was not only "Gavin" now -- he became "Daddy." Oh, to be able to hear those two names from the lips of the ladies in his life, it is certainly the cause of that constant smile on his face. When Missy was just a wee babe, Meggie would sit on my seat and Gavin would push the two loves of his life. As Missy became old enough to sit on her own, Meggie would stand next to her Gavin as "daddy" now gently pushed their little girl. 

Little Missy... whose hands held onto my chains as softly as her mother, but had this strength that I could only imagine came from her father. Whose own laugh would twinkle as she would proclaim "Higher, daddy! Higher!" Little Missy, who had this childlike confidence that if she pumped her legs hard enough, she could touch the stars... and the proud look in daddy's eyes believed that she very well could.

For seven wonderful years, I was privy enough to witness and feel the laughter, love, and pure joy from those three people.

I know I am not the only one that wishes to just turn back time. Not just turn back, but even to stop time. To remain living the past seven years, if only to feel its bliss. However, once those seven years were over, a single aching, painful year approached. One filled with such sadness, such anger, such void that nearly killed not myself... but the man. 

For one whole bleak year... he wasn't "Gavin," nor was he "Daddy." He was just a man. A man whose face I had come to know these past nine years, but could hardly recognize. There was no auburn hair Meggie to whisper "Gavin." There was no smiling daughter to giggle "Daddy." A ghost of a man that would grace by my playground and for one whole year just stare. His hollow, yet desperate eyes gazing upon me. Concentrating so hard as if I myself would bring back what was lost... as if the memories could somehow bring back the dead.

I would not know, for that entire year, what had become of beautiful Meggie and little Missy... until she showed up. Until this young woman, with the brown hair and scarf, somehow brought some life -- some kind of hope -- back into the man. That man who is now known as Price.

Price had, for the very first time in all the years I have known him, stepped into my playground and sat upon my seat. He sat himself down wearily, grasping his hands onto my chains. As Price began rocking back and forth on his own, I could feel his heart breaking as his body began to shake. He could not hold back his sobs and I soon felt the tears began to fall. 

I was not the only one to witness such an emotional breakdown. The young woman, who I'm to learn her name as Joan, was strolling past my playground and stopped upon seeing this man crying on me. I saw the look she had given him. It was a whole range of emotion; from surprise, confusion, hesitation, pity, then sadness. She slowly made her way towards us, obviously taking great pains to be unnoticed. It was not until she spoke "Mr. Price?" with such soft care that he took notice of her. Price's body shook once more, startled by her presence. He looked up at her, almost the exact same way she first looked at him -- except minus pity. She didn't say a word, though her eyes were curious. He refused to say a word, though his eyes were begging to be heard. There was much silence and much hesitation on both sides before their hearts began opening up to one another.

Price, formerly known as "Gavin" and "daddy", told Joan about the accident. How one afternoon, he had to stay late after school to help a troubled student. This caused him to break his "swing date" with his two favorite girls. How he had promised to make it up to Missy by rescheduling their swing date "tomorrow afternoon with ice cream." He continued to explain how Missy still wanted to go the playground, so she asked "daddy" if it was okay that her mother takes her. Price was fine with that idea if only Meggie herself agreed. "Either way," he said, "Missy would get to spend time at her favorite place." I not only felt touched, but saddened to hear such a declaration. 

Price continued by explaining that while he was at school, his wife and daughter walked to the playground together. How while he was trying to talk to an at-risk student about the dangers of substance abuse, another reckless substance abuser had decided to take an afternoon joyride that resulted in a horrible tragedy. One that took the lives of a mother and her child.

A silence soon fell upon us. Joan, as Price told his tale, had taken my second seat next to his, though her body was facing the other way just so that she could look at him. The quiet that had fallen was both awkward yet calm. Price's gaze focused on the sand as he rocked back and forth. Joan's gaze fell on him as she silently debated what to say. 

Suddenly, Joan switched sitting position and was now facing in the same direction as Price. She looked upon him, her hands circling my chains just as gently as Meggie and Missy once before, and somewhat hesitant yet confidant enough to softly whisper, "Can you give me a push?"

Price regarded her, confused by her request. However, upon seeing the quiet sincerity in her young eyes, he gave a small nod, a reluctant smile, and stood up to stand behind her. As if watching a memory, I saw as he placed his hand on the small of her back and began pushing her ever so gently. Content silence fell upon the two that I could not help but once more wish I could smile.

This silent activity shared between the two continued even to this day. Oh, speaking of which, there she is now. That man, Price?, as you've probably seen standing by the playground entrance for the past few minutes now has actually been waiting for her. And there's the young woman with the colorful scarf, Joan. 

I would be glad to share with you another of my many stories, but I'm afraid I must save them for another time. As you can probably tell, I have company. I can see them approaching me now with quiet excitement. I can hear them sharing a laugh over the day's events. I can even feel a certain understanding between the two. They may not know it, but in my twenty years as a playground swing, I have never seen two people more content to share an afternoon together. 

_JoA~~Price~~JoA_


End file.
